


Heat

by missazrael



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Cross Country Running, Enemies to Friends, Friends to Lovers, Gen, High School AU, Internal homophobia, M/M, Reibert brotp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 06:11:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15575514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missazrael/pseuds/missazrael
Summary: Reiner doesn't want these guys on his cross country team.  Marcel is fine, but the other Galliard brother?  God,why?  Whythat guy?  Why Porco?A sweet little high school AU fic, where Reiner is the captain of the cross country team and the Galliard brothers are new to the district and are everything Reiner doesn't need in his life right now.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: I do NOT give permission for this to be crossposted, plagiarized, or adapted to any other fandom. You know who you are, if you're reading this; write your own stuff and back off of mine.

The first practice of the year dawns on a muggy, still day. The rising sun looks like it’s bleeding into the sky, promising another scorcher, and the air is motionless and heavy across Reiner’s shoulders. It’s the kind of day where he’s grateful cross country practice is in the morning and not after school; running in this kind of weather at three o’clock, when the sun is just starting to sink back towards the horizon, would be suicide. He took classes over the summer in CPR and basic first aid, and knows how to treat heat exhaustion now, but he’d rather not have to use those skills.

Still, he’s happy to be back, ready for another school year to start, and when he pulls up in front of Bertolt’s house to pick him up, he’s in high good humor.

He only has to wait on the curb for a few moments before Bertolt comes slouching out, his eyes half-closed and his hair standing up in cowlicks, sweat already beading on his skin. This is going to be a rough day for him, Reiner can tell already, and he glances at the backseat, where he has his trusty little cooler, freshly stocked with bottles of only slightly-expired Gatorade that he got for cheap at work.

Reiner grins as Bertolt climbs into the car, folding his long legs up and under his chin so they fit in the little hatchback. “Good morning, sunshine!”

Bertolt garbles something that is almost words, and Reiner hands him a thermos of iced coffee. Caffeine before a run is just going to make him have to shit, but Bertolt has been running cross country since middle school now and knows the risks. He’ll be smart enough to go before they start.

Bertolt seizes the thermos, the first real sign of life from him all morning, and nurses it all the way to the high school. Reiner leaves him to his coffee, and sings quietly along with the radio.

The locker room at the stadium is already sweltering, stinking of sweat and socks moldering away in the corners, and Reiner is glad he decided to leave his school clothes in his car. They’ll feel like a furnace when he puts them on, but they won’t pick up the reek of the locker room and the stink won’t trail him all day. He sits in front of his locker, Bertolt at his side—slightly more awake now, mumbling responses whenever someone talks to him—and greets the other runners as they come in. Most of them look at him askance, especially the freshmen, but the return runners all know about Reiner and how lively he is in the morning. They wave, or say hi, and a few even ask him how his summer went. Reiner answers all of their questions with a smile—he’s good, thanks; his summer was fine; yeah, that’s his car out in the parking lot; she doesn’t look like much but she gets him where he needs to go.

One of the girls knocks on the locker room door, and Bertolt sits up straighter, swiping his hair out of his eyes, looking everywhere except at the girls as they file in after getting the all clear. Reiner grins and covers it behind his hand, giving Bertolt a little nudge with his elbow. “She looks really cute this morning. Looks like she got a tan over the summer.”

“Shut up!” Bertolt hisses, his feet tapping nervously, out of control, his hands working over themselves from where he’s got them clasped between his knees. He refuses to admit his crush on Annie Leonhardt, has been denying it for years, but all it takes is one look at him to know he’s fallen, and fallen hard. Personally, Reiner thinks that if Annie doesn’t notice Bertolt this year, she’s not paying attention; Bertolt shot up another two inches over the summer and his legs go on forever under his shorts. He’s also finally starting to grow into his nose, and, in Reiner’s humble opinion, is one of, if not _the_ , best looking guy in the junior year.

He’s biased, though. Bertolt has been his best friend since middle school, and been with him through a lot, including this recently past, brutal summer. As far as Reiner is concerned, Bertolt is one hell of a catch, and if Annie can’t figure that out on her own before Homecoming, he’s got some plans in place to help her along.

The girls take their seats—Reiner notices, with great amusement, that Bertolt sneaks a glance at Annie’s legs before looking down into his lap again, his cheeks reddening—and a few moments later, Coach Z follows them in. Reiner sits up straight, casting a solemn gaze around the locker room. He’s been promoted, all the way to Captain of the team, and he intends to take it very seriously. He doesn’t want to let Coach Z down.

Coach Z shuffles some papers on his clipboard, breathing in deeply through his nose, before lifting his eyes and looking over the students seated around him. Even when he’s looking up, his hair falls over his eyes, and he looks like a shaggy, benign sheepdog. He’s shaved his mustache for the beginning of the year, as he always does, and his face looks weirdly naked without it. “Morning, ladies and gentlemen.”

“Good morning, Coach Z,” they all chorus, Reiner’s voice the loudest of all.

“So we’re all here for another year of running. Practices’ll be at this time, to avoid the heat. If this is too early for you, tell me and quit now, so you don’t get my hopes up.”

Reiner slouches down a little, poking Bertolt again. It’s the same speech they get every year, and while the freshmen are looking all wide-eyed and impressed, the older students are already starting to lose interest. Reiner almost starts dozing as Coach Z drones on about practice times and meets and commitment, the heat of the locker room a natural soporific.

“And finally, we’ve got two new runners joining us.”

_That_ catches Reiner’s attention, and he sits up straight again. Two new runners? But they’ve already done their running camp! They’re already a team! New runners are going to throw off the balance he’s been trying to cultivate since last season! It’s bad enough they lost Jean to the soccer team, and now this?

Reiner frantically tries to catch Coach Z’s eyes, but the man isn’t paying any attention to him. Reiner stifles down the possessive little hurt that flares in his chest, and sets his jaw as he listens.

“Their daddy moved down here onto the base, which is why they didn’t join us for camp. You all be nice now, understand?” Coach Z lifts his head and looks at each and every runner; the freshmen look away, stricken by shyness, and the upperclassmen perk up, suddenly interested. The coach meets Reiner’s eyes, just for a moment, and his broad shoulders lift in an almost imperceivable shrug. New Army kids, what can you do? Reiner sighs through his nose, the sound whistling loudly, and a nerdy little sophomore close to him looks up in surprise. Bertolt, of all people, glares at the kid, and he immediately averts his eyes.

“Please welcome Marcel and Porco Galliard to our team,” Coach Z concludes, and steps aside so the two new guys can come in. There’s a smattering of applause, which Reiner is grateful for, because he can’t help groaning softly.

That guy. Why’d it have to be _that guy_?

The older brother, Marcel, comes in first, all smiles and friendly waving. He’s made a bit of a splash already, in the three days they’ve been in school; darkly handsome, supremely confident, and charming as shit. All the girls in the school are falling all over themselves around him, from the seniors in his own grade all the way down to the freshmen, who squeal and giggle behind their hands when he passes by. To his credit, he takes it all in stride, and damn if he isn’t pretty pleasant and fun to be around. He’s in Reiner’s trigonometry class, and while Reiner wouldn’t call him a friend, not after only three days, he’s definitely not a problem.

With the way Reiner’s life has been going lately, he’ll take _not a problem_ over all the other possibilities any day.

Marcel’s brother, who comes sauntering in behind him… _that guy_ is going to be a problem.

Where Marcel is all calm and cool, the kind of guy where an ice cube wouldn’t melt in his mouth, his younger brother is all edges and spikes, aggressive and cocky and too loud. He’s brash, and obnoxious, and makes the history class Reiner shares with him torture, because he has an opinion about _everything_ , and they’re usually _wrong_. Or not wrong, exactly, but so poorly articulated that they might as well be. He just sets Reiner on edge, with his swaggering walk, wide, bright white grin, and how he always has his chest puffed out. Congratulations, Porco, you bought a weight set over the summer! Much buff, so muscles, _wow_!

This time, it’s Bertolt who elbows Reiner to get his attention, and Reiner realizes he’d been glaring at Porco, who’s busy looking around the locker room like he owns it, his arms crossed over his chest to expose the muscles he’s _obviously_ been working on all summer. Reiner tears his gaze away, and finds Coach Z watching him, a slight raise to one of his eyebrows. 

Reiner flushes. “Sorry, Coach. What was that?”

Coach Z is silent for another couple of seconds, just long enough to make Reiner want to squirm, before responding. “I was asking if you and Bertolt would show the Galliard boys the course we’re running today.”

Reiner almost says no. Before he can, Bertolt nods. “We can do it, Coach.”

Reiner spares him a look that he knows is both grateful and agonized. Why, Bertolt? _Why?_ Why would you betray him like this? Sure, Bertolt just helped him save face, but _ugh_ , now they have to run with _Porco_.

“That’s mighty kind of you.” Marcel flashes that sweet, lazy grin at both of them, and Reiner can hear half the girls in the locker room sigh. Annie, thankfully, isn’t one of them; if she had been, Bertolt would have been inconsolable and useless the rest of the day. No, Annie is playing with her shoelaces and completely ignoring the whole ordeal. 

“It’s no trouble,” Bertolt tells him, and elbows Reiner again. Reiner jumps, and catches Coach Z watching him again. He shakes his head at the coach— _no_ , it’s not what you’re thinking, this is _fine_ —and stands up. 

“Pleased to have you on the team,” he tells the brothers, offering out his hand to shake. Marcel just smile and shakes it, and Reiner thinks this’ll be fine. Okay, he’s being normal, this isn’t a big deal.

But then Porco lunges forward, grabs Reiner’s hand, and wrings it like he’s trying to decapitate a chicken, and Reiner squeezes back, just as hard. 

“Looking forward to working with you, Reiner,” Porco tells him, his grin like a shark’s, and Reiner suddenly knows it’s going to be a long, long season.


	2. Chapter 2

“How’d the first practice go?”

Mike Zacharius shrugs, scooting over a little to make room for Erwin. They’ve been assigned lunch duty together again, and he’s happy about that on multiple levels: for one, Erwin is his best friend, and has been for going on five years now. For two, all Erwin has to do is lift his head and cast a steely, disappointed gaze around the lunch room, and all but the rowdiest of students settle down and go back to peacefully eating their lunch. For those rowdy ones, all Mike has to do is sit up straight and flex his shoulders, and they usually calm down too. On very rare occasions, one or both of them might have to stand up.

The admin is very clearly grooming Erwin for a future principalship, which Mike thinks he’d be very good at. He’s also self-aware enough to not be offended that the admins prefer Erwin over himself; he knows he doesn’t have the people skills to smooth over problems the way Erwin does, and is perfectly content to only knock heads together in the classroom and not the teacher’s office.

“Went okay.” Mike pokes forlornly at the bright orange glop on his tray and sighs; this is what he gets for eating his real lunch, the one he brought from home, around 10 AM. With a slight smile, Erwin reaches into his vest pocket and pulls out a granola bar, then slides it across the table to Mike. He falls on it greedily; sometimes, a man gets too hungry to be proud. “I think the newcomers might cause a little friction.”

“Really?” Erwin lifts his gaze and peruses the cafeteria, and without looking over his shoulder, Mike knows exactly what he’s seeing: Marcel Galliard, in the middle of a little gaggle of girls, holding court and smiling benevolently as he bestows his favors. They’re going to have to keep an eye on that one, or they’ll be fishing girls out of his car by Homecoming. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Not the older one. He’s fine.” More than fine, really; Marcel fit in very naturally with the team, having gained that smooth, easy confidence that some Army kids get, that ability to mold himself into any social setting.

“Ah.” Erwin’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he looks back at Mike and pulls an apple out of his lunch bag. “The younger one?”

“That’s the kid.”

Erwin nods thoughtfully as he crunches into his apple. Mike unwraps his granola bar, knowing that Erwin is going to take a few moments to think this over, and phrase things properly. It’s one of the things he admires about him, and what makes him such a valuable asset to the school.

“He’s in my third period class,” Erwin announces, after he’s swallowed the bite he had in his mouth. “Along with the Braun boy.” He chuckles quietly. “Three days in and they’re already at each other’s throats.”

Mike nods. “Same thing at practice. If they get to be too shitty in your class, just let me know.”

He doubts Reiner would ever get _shitty_ , per se, especially not with Erwin, but stranger things have happened. Who knows what the Galliard boy could goad him into?

Erwin waves one hand dismissively. “No, it’s not like that. They’re not being disruptive.”

“So what are they doing?”

“They both have… very strong opinions.” Erwin shrugs. “The Galliard boy seems the type to fight a battle just to keep himself entertained, and Reiner hasn’t realized yet that he’s being baited.”

“Ah.” Yes, that sounds about right. That’s almost exactly what’s happening during practice, and Mike sighs. There’s something else going on here, he knows, and he’s glad that Erwin is also aware of everything that went on this last summer. Mike had asked Reiner if it was okay to tell Erwin, even though the two of them aren’t close, because of Erwin’s connections in administration. Reiner had agreed, so Erwin will understand what Mike is about to ask without any prompting.

Although who knows, Erwin would probably have figured it out anyway, without any prompting or intel from Mike _or_ Reiner. He probably knew Reiner’s secret before Reiner did.

“Do you think it has anything to do with what happened over the summer?” 

Mike wants Erwin to shake his head; he wants Erwin’s reassurance that no, it’s definitely not related to all that mess in the slightest; this is just two headstrong teenager butting heads, and they’ll just have to be patient until Reiner and Porco realize how much they have in common and sort it out on their own. Reiner could use a friend as lively as he is, after all; he and Bertolt balance each other quite nicely, but Mike has also noticed Bertolt’s infatuation with Annie Leonhardt, and who knows where that might lead. Marcel Galliard might not be the only one with a car full of girls by the time Homecoming rolls around.

But Erwin thinks about it for a moment, then lifts his gaze from his lunch to look Mike dead in the eye and nod his head. “It very well might.”

“ _Dammit_.”

Erwin reaches across the table and pats Mike’s arm. “It’s okay. They’ll sort it out, or they won’t. I’m sure Reiner is smart enough to not cause any issues for himself.”

Mike nods, but he isn’t so sure. In a town this small, where everyone is in everyone else’s business and the social atmosphere hasn’t changed much since the 1950s— _oh heavens, those dreadful Klansmen don’t come around much anymore, even though my grandfather was one and he was the kindest man you’d ever expect to meet, when he wasn’t lynching black men—we don’t call the folks from south of the border nasty names anymore but can you imagine if one was dating your son? or your daughter?—bless your heart, you know you’re not_ really _one of those dreadful people who date their own kind, those people only live in cities up north, you’ll fall in love with the right person sooner or later, and that person will be the opposite gender and you’ll have an enormous family or you’ll just break my heart—_ being different is a liability, and Reiner’s type of different is one of the worst kinds. Being black or Hispanic is one thing; everyone recognizes, on some level, that that isn’t something you can change, and you’re not responsible for accidents of your birth. But being gay? That’s still viewed as a suspicious, deviant _choice_ , as something not understood and therefore to be feared, and Reiner is going to have a difficult time convincing anyone in the town otherwise. He’d known that from the very beginning, when he’d turned up on Mike’s doorstep, distraught and almost in tears, terrified that he’d be scorned and pushed away.

Mike would never do that. He might not fully understand the gay thing, but Reiner is like a son to him, and if he can help make the boy’s last two years of high school easier by keeping his secret, then so be it. As far as he knows, only Bertolt, Erwin, and himself know about Reiner’s discovery this summer.

Erwin smiles then, and Mike realizes he’s gotten lost in his thoughts. He shakes his head a little, and devotes his attention back to his friend.

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much. You know how kids are, and how fast these things come and go. Just keep an eye on it, and we’ll intervene if it looks like it’s going to erupt.”

Mike nods, grateful, as always, for Erwin’s council. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Thanks.”

“Of course.” Erwin pulls a carefully-portioned salad out of his lunch bag and starts shaking the little bottle of dressing that he brought for it. “Besides, you have your own issues to deal with right now.”

“Huh?” Before Mike can ask what the hell Erwin is talking about, he hears a soft voice over his shoulder, and gets a whiff of light, fruity perfume that might actually just be the lingering scent of body lotion, and his heart picks up in his chest.

“Is this seat taken?”

“Not at all, Miss Nanaba!” Erwin announces grandly, and kicks Mike’s ankle under the table. “Please join us!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erwin ships it.


	3. Chapter 3

Reiner crosses the finish line near the stadium with Bertolt fast on his heels, both of them breathing hard and wet with sweat. The sun is over the horizon now, glaring down on them, and it’s going to be another scorcher of a day.

Bertolt runs a few extra steps before stopping, bracing his hands on his knees and gasping for breath. Reiner whacks him on the back, not minding how his hand is instantly soaked, and pushes him in the direction of Coach Z and the water cooler before turning around to encourage the other runners as they straggle in.

“Great job, everyone! Great times!” The first runners to come back are all juniors and seniors, upperclassmen who’ve done this before and know what to expect. They look tired but not completely wiped, and accept Reiner’s high fives and encouragement cheerfully before drifting towards the water cooler. 

The middle of the pack is a mixed blend; less talented upperclassmen who still enjoy the sport (and more power to them, in Reiner’s humble opinion; they don’t win awards or help the team much, but they love running and are committed to the team); sophomores who are still developing their skill set but who have improved since last year; and the occasional freshman, already showing promise as a runner. Coach Z marks their times as they come in, and Reiner knows there will be some improvements on there. Something for everyone to be proud of.

The last group is mostly freshmen. Today is the first day they’ve done a drill where Coach Z asked them to run at top speed, the way they’d run during a meet, and the expected happened: the inexperienced runners shot out of the gate like the demons of hell were on their heels, thinking _meet speed_ is synonymous with _gotta go fast_ , and then burned out midway through. It’s a valuable lesson, one Reiner had to learn himself, and he has plenty of smiles for the kids as they limp towards the stadium, trying to find one last bit of hustle.

They aren’t all kids. Marcel has volunteered to be a pace runner with them, keeping them going and showing them a speed that’s quick but also maintainable, and his brother had, of course, decided to stay with him. They lead a little clot of freshmen towards the stadium, and the wind picks up just enough for Reiner to catch a snatch of conversation.

“—almost there—if you’ve got anything left—“

Reiner starts to smile—that’s good advice—but then Porco breaks in and interrupts his brother, and what he says carries all too well, his voice loud and strident and perfectly audible.

“Then bust ass to the finish line!”

As Reiner watches, Porco picks up his arms and wind sprints towards him, and he can feel his smile fracture a little around the edges. The kid is fast, he’ll give Porco that; he’s chewing up the ground between himself and Reiner, his hair blowing back behind him and fluttering like a reddish-gold flag, but he’s also being an enormous show-off, and that’s not the kind of person Reiner needs on his team.

Behind Porco, Marcel is rallying the freshmen, and suddenly they’re all sprinting, or at least trying to, charging forward in a gangly, uneven crowd. None of them have the energy left to really sprint, not the way Porco is, or how Marcel is starting to, pulling a few feet ahead of the pack, but they’re all laughing and excited, having a good time, and the runners who’ve already finished start up a ragged little cheer behind Reiner. 

As he closes in on him, Porco lifts one hand, and Reiner realizes, almost too late, that he wants a high-five. He just manages to get his hand up in time, and Porco hits it with a resounding smack as he dashes past him, leaving Reiner’s palm stinging and a gust of air that smells like sweat and faint cologne swirling around him. 

Marcel breezes past, along with the giggling, cheerful freshmen runners, and Reiner turns to smile and congratulate all of them, ignoring the way his stomach is clenching and rolling over on itself. Goddamn little show-off, getting the freshmen all riled up like that…

Reiner strides towards Porco, a stinging rebuke ready on his lips, but then Porco pops up from his forward stretch, an easy, confident grin etched on his face, and delivers a friendly punch to Reiner’s chest. It stops Reiner in his tracks, and for a second, he just gapes uncomprehendingly.

“Pretty fast, huh?” Porco keeps grinning like a fool, and lifts his arms above his head, stretching out his sides, and Reiner does his absolute best to ignore the dark triangles etched in sweat running down the sides of his tank top. “I like cross country, but track is really more my thing. You run track in the spring?”

“Uh…” Reiner is baffled; every time he’s interacted with Porco in Mr. Smith’s class, he’s been an aggressive, pig-headed _asshole_ , trying to take everything Reiner has to say and twisting it around. And sure, he might have some valid points to make, but he doesn’t have to be so _infuriating_ when he’s making them! Now, though, he’s smiling pleasantly and talking like a normal person, and Reiner has no idea where this version of Porco came from or when he’s going to go away and Asshole Porco will come back. “Yeah.”

“Let me guess: more of a field guy? Probably shot-put?”

“Yeah. Shot-put and pole vault.” 

Porco whistles between his teeth. “Pole vault, huh… nice. That’s some next level shit.”

So next level that Reiner hasn’t technically tried it yet—Coach Z wouldn’t let him until he could bench-press his own body weight, which he finally accomplished this summer—but he sees no reason to bring that up. “What about you?”

Another bright, flashing grin before Porco collapses backwards onto the grass and throws his hips to the side to stretch his back. “You guess.”

“Mmmmm…” Reiner glances over his shoulder, suddenly desperate to escape this situation, but he doesn’t see any signs of anyone coming to save him; Marcel is helping one of the sophomore girls stretch her legs; Coach Z is talking to a senior who had knee surgery last spring; Bertolt is watching from his own prone position on the grass, but right now he’s just watching, his elbows propped underneath him and his head tilted to one side. Worthless, all of them. Reiner is in this on his own. “The 800?”

“Yeah, good guess!” Porco rolls his hips to the other side, his shirt getting caught around his waist with the motion and exposing an inch or two of pale flesh, and Reiner looks away. “That’s my secondary event, though. I’m a 400 man.”

“The 400?” Reiner is impressed in spite of himself. The 400 is a brutal event, and if that’s Porco’s main event, he must be able to hold that speed he was just showing off for a quarter mile. “So you’re going to be finishing all the meets with a sprint like that?”

Porco shrugs, clearly pleased by Reiner’s compliment. “Depends on the course, but yeah, I plan on it.” He lays flat on his back then and lifts one leg straight up into the air, twirling his foot in a circle, first one way and then the other. “Help me with my hamstrings, huh?”

Reiner blanches, taking a step backwards and whipping his head towards Bertolt. Bertolt notices his distress this time, and starts to get up, but it always takes a long time with him, with all the leg and arm he has to get organized. “Uh… I usually help Bertolt…”

“It’s fine.” A cool, bored voice from somewhere near Reiner’s elbow, and Annie brushes past him, looking impossibly collected and clean after a long run. “I’ll help Bertolt.”

Dammit. _Dammit_. Reiner is torn; on the one hand, foist Annie off on Porco and then retreat to the safety of Bertolt, but on the other, make Bertolt miss a chance at actually _talking_ to Annie instead of admiring her from afar? Dammit, dammit, _dammit_. As he stands there, indecisive, Annie strolls over to Bertolt and casually pushes him back onto the ground, taking hold of one of his heels and lifting it up towards the sky. Bertolt’s eyes go so big they nearly consume his face, and he flops back onto the grass so quickly it’s like Annie’s presence has dissolved all his bones.  
Traitor.

Reiner turns back to Porco, resigned to his fate. “All right, but then you do mine.”

“Yeah, _obviously_.”

Ah yes, there’s Asshole Porco, making an appearance to keep Reiner on his toes.

Reiner seizes the heel of Porco’s shoe and starts pushing forward as Porco straightens his leg. Porco’s hamstring isn’t nearly as tight as Reiner expected, and he’s able to push his leg pretty far towards his chest before he meets with any resistance.

From the ground, Porco grunts a little, and for some dumb reason, Reiner’s cheeks flush. “Go on, keep pushing. I don’t want it cramping up during Bio.”

So he has Biology, probably with Ms. Hange. Reiner grins a little and keeps pushing. “You have Hange?”

“ _Yes_.” Porco rolls his eyes and pushes his leg back against Reiner. “She put a spider on my desk on the first day.”

Reiner snickers; he, too, has had a run-in with Ms. Hange’s tarantulas. “She does that to every class. It’s a tradition.”

“Fucking gross, is what it is. C’mon, _push_!” Porco abruptly increases the pushback against Reiner, and to keep from being shoved over, Reiner throws his shoulder into it, pressing the meat of it against Porco’s ankle and using his other hand to brace on Porco’s bare calf. Porco groans as his leg moves forward another inch or two, and Reiner is suddenly aware of the heat of Porco’s leg under his palm, and how his calf is covered with fine, downy hair, paler than the hair on his head and soft and fluffy under Reiner’s palm.

Reiner glances over at Bertolt again, needing a distraction and not quite sure why. Bertolt is still on his back on the grass, and Annie is throwing her whole body into helping him stretch, her shoulder braced on Bertolt’s calf and Bertolt’s foot next to her head as she really leans into it. Bertolt looks like he’s transcended to another plane of existence, and Reiner can’t help but be pleased for him.

“Okay, that’s good.” Porco bends his knee and pulls his leg out of Reiner’s grasp, nearly causing him to stumble and fall forward. Which would be disastrous, because he’d fall right onto Porco and squash him like a bug. Coach Z and Marcel probably wouldn’t like that. “Do the other one now, and then I’ll do you.”

Reiner takes Porco’s other ankle with a sigh that he barely keeps contained in his chest.

Porco lets him stretch his other leg without being weird, then bounces to his feet. “Thanks. Your turn.”

Reiner lays down and tentatively lifts one leg into the air, which Porco seizes with great enthusiasm and immediately leans into. Reiner gasps at the sudden stretch, his hamstring sending off a warning ping of pain before settling into it, and Porco glances up at the sound. When Reiner doesn’t protest, he just grins and leans harder.

Reiner will say this for him, Porco gives a good stretch. He gets just as into it as Annie does, pressing his chest and the entire front length of his body against the back of Reiner’s leg, grasping his calf with both hands and looping his fingers around Reiner’s shin. With his foot nearly in Porco’s face, Reiner can swear he feels the little tickle of Porco’s chest hair where the back of his ankle presses into Porco’s collarbone, and the thought must be making him sick, because his stomach turns in slow, lazy flops. Must be the PopTart he had for breakfast. 

Clearly it’s that.

Coach Z clears his throat to get everyone’s attention, and Porco lets Reiner’s leg down and offers him a hand to get up. Reiner almost gets up on his own, but then takes the offered hand and lets Porco hoist him to his feet. They end up standing chest to chest, just for a moment, and Reiner hadn’t realized how much taller he is than Porco, and how Porco has to tilt his head back to look up at him and meet his eyes.

But then Porco steps back, and they both go to listen to Coach Z’s pep talk before heading to the showers, and Reiner spends the rest of the day trying to focus on other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh huh, Reiner. Suuuuure you thought about other things all day.


	4. Chapter 4

“And I just don’t get it, he’s just… _always there_!” Reiner jerks his arms to the side and slams on the brakes; on the screen, Bowser skids off to the side and an AI-controlled Luigi darts past him, only to be hit seconds later by a blue shell.

Bertolt huffs next to him, and Koopa Trooper shoots past Bowser to take first place. Reiner leans forward, silently willing Bowser to pick up speed just a little bit faster, but that skid threw him further than he’d hoped; Luigi ends up winning, with Koopa Trooper in second place and Bowser chugging across the finish line fourth.

“See! Now he’s making me lose Mario Kart!”

Bertolt shakes his head and leans back against the wall, his long legs stretched out and dangling off the side of Reiner’s bed. The fan in Reiner’s window is chugging along, but it’s too small to really cool the room, and the heat lays oppressive all around them. Reiner knows Bertolt is getting sweat all over his bed, but that’s okay; he needs to do laundry later anyway, and sweat is just a friendship hazard with Bertolt. He’s gotten used to the heat in his room, can even sleep in it now, but Bertolt’s apartment has air conditioning for his dad’s breathing, and Bertolt struggles with how hot and close Reiner’s apartment gets.

But he comes over anyway, and Reiner really appreciates that about him. He shakes out his controller, the cord attaching it to his GameCube flopping around sadly on the floor. “Want another round?”

“No.” Bertolt sinks lower against the wall, and Reiner offers him a water bottle, which he takes gratefully. “You’re not paying attention to it anyway.”

“Yes, I am!” Reiner wants to glare, but Bertolt is drinking from the bottle now, and he has to turn his head to the side so he doesn’t stare at the way Bertolt’s throat works as he swallows.

Bertolt finishes and wipes off the top of the bottle before handing it back to Reiner. Reiner wants to tell him that he doesn’t need to do that, but he’s pretty sure that would be weird—hey, best friend, I don’t mind touching something your lips have touched, because that’s almost like kissing you!—so he just takes the bottle and drinks the rest of the lukewarm water in it. He puts it aside and look at Bertolt expectantly, knowing that he’s been gathering his thoughts, and hoping that he’ll take the bait and complain about Porco for awhile with him.

Bertolt pushes himself up so he’s sitting straight again. “You’re too worked up about Porco right now.”

“I am _not_!” As soon as he says it, Reiner knows it’s true; he _is_ too worked up about Porco right now to enjoy Mario Kart, and he gets off the bed to turn off the GameCube and his little tv. “He doesn’t get me worked up.”

Reiner flops back on the bed and scoots back to lean against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. Goddamn stupid Porco Galliard, with his stupid red hair and stupid grin and all the dumb shit he says in History class. Why couldn’t he be more like Marcel, quiet and pleasant and swarmed by girls? Why can’t he just leave Reiner alone?

At least this has distracted him from Bertolt’s legs.

Bertolt makes a quiet sound of disagreement, shaking his head. “You talk about him all the time.”

“Because he’s so obnoxious!”

“Uh huh.”

“And he never shuts up! Or stops showing off!”

“That’s true.”

“And he’s always just _there_! I finish a run, boom, there he is!” Reiner pitches his voice a little higher and tries to drop his drawling syllables, attempting to imitate Porco’s clipped accent. “ _You need a stretch? You do my legs, I’ll do yours_? And you!” Reiner drops the voice and turns on Bertolt, caught up in his rant now, ready to see it through to the end. “And you’re too busy flirting with Annie to come save me!”

Bertolt winces, and Reiner immediately feels bad. “Do you want me to come and save you?”

“No.” Reiner sighs and runs a hand over his face. “How’s that going, by the way? You two look like you’re getting really cozy during practice.”

Annie has almost smiled at Bertolt a couple of times, Reiner would swear to it. And with Porco taking all Reiner’s attention during practices—running next to him, chattering, showing off with those damn wind sprints, and then wanting to share stretching duties, and tossing his legs up in the air so Reiner _has_ to take hold of his narrow, fine-boned ankles and push them forward—Annie has had Bertolt all to herself. Reiner caught them running together a few days this week, Annie somehow keeping up with Bertolt’s much longer stride, and then caught them again in the hallways, Bertolt ducked low so he could hear whatever Annie was saying in the noisy hallway. And now, with Reiner’s questions, Bertolt is looking down and fiddling with the hem of his shirt, a slow blush staining his cheeks and a sappy grin starting to spread, and Reiner can’t help but start to smile too.

“She asked me to go running with her this weekend.”

“She did? That’s awesome!” And a little disappointing, since Bertolt usually runs with Reiner on the weekends, but Reiner pushes that hurt aside so he can be happy for his friend. “You’re doing it, right? You’re going running with her?”

“Yeah.” Bertolt is positively flushed crimson now, but he’s also beaming, and it’s a good look on him. It’s a myth that Bertolt is shy and quiet and never says anything; he’s reserved, certainly, but once he gets to know someone, he opens right up, blooming like a flower after a spring rain. “Her dad is going to pick me up and take us out to the State Park.”

Reiner whistles softly, impressed in spite of himself. “Going running _and_ meeting her dad?” He elbows Bertolt in the ribs, but gently though, making sure not to hurt him or knock him around. He’s still getting used to his newly-acquired muscles, and he’d knocked Bertolt over a couple of times this past summer. “Look out, sounds like you’re auditioning for son-in-law.”

“Reiner!” Bertolt snatches Reiner’s pillow off the bed and hits him with it; while Reiner has to be careful, Bertolt has no such qualms, and the pillow oofs along Reiner’s jaw. “It’s not like that!”

“You sure?” Reiner holds up an arm to fend off Bertolt’s attacks, and starts singing, loudly and off-key. “ _Bertolt and Annie, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes…”_

_“Reiner, no!_ ” Bertolt abandons the pillow and goes for a full body tackle, hitting Reiner squarely in the midsection and knocking him off balance. They teeter together for a second or two, poised on the edge of the disaster, and then go toppling over, landing on the floor with a crash. Reiner is laughing too hard to push Bertolt off him, which gives Bertolt a chance to grab the pillow off the bed and pummel him with it. 

Bertolt gets a few good blows in before Reiner manages to catch his breath. “I give, I give!” 

“Yeah, you _better_ give.” Bertolt sits back, his weight landing across Reiner’s thighs, and a sudden, completely unexpected image of Porco Galliard flashes through Reiner’s mind, there and then gone. “You better give, or I’m going to beat it out of you.” 

“Uh huh.” Reiner heaves upward, dislodging Bertolt off his legs. Bertolt squawks and lands on the floor next to him with a thud, his head turned towards Reiner’s bed. 

“Gross, Reiner, get those socks out from under there!” 

“No one asked you to look.” Duly noted, though; Reiner thought he’d gotten all his used socks in the wash, but apparently not. 

“Ugh.” Bertolt is still holding Reiner’s pillow, and he turns it over in his hands, positioning it under his head and then crossing his arms over it. He looks like he could lounge on Reiner’s floor all day. “You should ask Porco to run with you this weekend.” 

Reiner wrinkles his nose at the thought of spending more time than he has to with Porco Galliard. “Pass.” 

“Why not?” 

“Weren’t you listening earlier?” 

“Yes.” 

“So would you suggest something so stupid?” Reiner waits for an answer, but Bertolt is just looking at him, watching with those dark green eyes, a faint, smug little smile on his face. “ _What_?” 

“Nothing.” Bertolt pushes himself up, and tosses Reiner’s pillow back on the bed. 

"Bert!” Reiner grabs at Bertolt’s sleeve, propping himself up with his other elbow. “No nothing, _what_?” 

Bertolt tilts his head to one side, gazing down at Reiner benevolently. “Have you had a crush on anyone since… you know?” 

Reiner blinks; it’s not the direction he thought this conversation would be taking. “No. You know I haven’t.” 

Who would he possibly have a crush on? They’ve known most of the same kids since grade school, and Reiner can almost guarantee that none of them are like him. Get a crush on someone at school? What a laugh; that sounds like a _great_ plan, the kind that would lead to a good old-fashioned fag drag, with Reiner on the receiving end. Reiner has just resigned himself to finishing up the next two years, concentrating on his grades, his job, and his running, and then taking off to college somewhere far away. Somewhere far away and _northern_ , if he can swing it. He wants to see snow, and he also wants to be gay without having to worry about everyone’s perception of him changing. The thought of university is like being able to take a deep breath after swimming underwater; it’s freedom, and possibilities, and maybe even finding someone to love him. 

Bertolt draws his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. “Are you sure?” 

“Very.” Reiner sits up too, running a hand through his hair to try and tame it. “Why do you suddenly care so much?” 

“I’ve always cared, Reiner,” Bertolt says softly, and Reiner has the good sense to be ashamed of himself. “But I’m asking because you keep talking about Porco.” 

Reiner is aghast. “I don’t have a crush on _him_!” 

Bertolt is undeterred. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes! Why would I…” And then Reiner stops, and thinks about it. He opens his mind to the idea that maybe, just possibly, he has a crush on Porco Galliard. Porco, with his confident grin and wind sprints; with his flowing reddish gold hair that catches the sun; with his cologne that smells expensive, that smells like clean cedar and fresh, clear water; with his brains, and his conviction, and his willingness to speak out and say what’s on his mind, and Reiner groans and buries his face in his hands. 

“ _Fuck_.” 

Bertolt scoots closer and puts an arm around his shoulders. 

“How did you _know_?” 

“Because you talk about him as much as I talk about Annie.” Bertolt pauses, reconsidering. “Maybe more.” 

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!” This? Reiner doesn’t need this. He doesn’t need a stupid high school crush to get in the way of his plans. He has things to do, dammit, and none of them involve trying to seduce someone who probably isn’t even gay to begin with. “He’s probably not even gay.” 

Bertolt clears his throat. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I still think you should go running with him.” 

Reiner groans, and leans his head on Bertolt’s shoulder. “You’re an asshole, you know that? A real asshole.” 

“I know.” And Bertolt sounds positively delighted with his new descriptor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porco would play Princess Peach and then gloat about beating you with his princess.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: slurs

Reiner slouches low in his chair, trying to make himself look smaller. It’s been two days since Bertolt pointed out what Reiner had, on some level, already known, and he’s still grappling with the knowledge that he has his first official big gay crush. And that it’s on the worst person he could have possibly chosen to crush on.

In front of the classroom, Mr. Smith is talking about the Supreme Court, and how its decisions affect everyone in the country, and blah blah blah; it’s review, something for everyone who forgot sophomore Civics. Judging by the blank looks on some of his classmates’ faces, most of them did, but Reiner didn’t, and he’s bored.

Rather than listen to something he already knows, Reiner watches Porco from under his eyelashes. Porco sits in front of him and to the side, so Reiner feels fairly confident in being able to watch him without anyone noticing. Mr. Smith might catch him, but Reiner knows he can answer any question that might get thrown at him, even if he does allow his mind to wander a little.

And lately, it just keeps wandering back to Porco fucking Galliard.

Who apparently learned this all before too, and is being less subtle than Reiner with his boredom. Porco is flopped back in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him, and Reiner has the pleasure of a sudden, unbidden memory popping into his head: Porco’s leg in his hands, pushing it forward to stretch his hamstrings, and really leaning into it, the front of his thigh pressing into Porco’s calf and the solid, dense feel of his muscles under Reiner’s. It’s something that keeps coming into Reiner’s head, insistent, demanding to be dealt with, much like the man in the memory.

Reiner shifts in his seat, uncomfortable, and although Porco twitches a little in his chair, he doesn’t turn back. Reiner is thankful for that; he’s already packing half a chub here, and if he got the full wattage of Porco’s inquisitive, bright blue eyes, he’d be in a real state.

Fortunately for both of them, Porco is too busy sprawling all over the place to pay attention to Reiner. He holds a pen in one hand, and keeps flipping it between his fingers, letting it roll over the back of his hand like he’s holding a knife and not a Bic, and Reiner knows he’s probably doing it to impress anyone who might be watching, and damn if it’s not working. He finds himself mesmerized by Porco’s hand, and his blunt-tipped fingers; they aren’t elegant, artistic hands, not like Bertolt’s, but the hands of someone who works with them, a tradesman or a machinist or a mechanic, and Reiner licks his lips, wondering what those hands would feel like on _him_. Porco has always been fairly rough and aggressive with stretching after practice; would he be the same in a more intimate situation? Would he grab Reiner and try to throw him around, or would he be gentle, those rough hands hiding surprising gentleness? And how would that roughness translate to other things? Would Porco’s kisses be as sharp and cutting as his words, always ready with a wisecrack or snark? Would his lips be soft? They’re already fuller and plusher than Reiner’s, and they look like they’d be soft.

So much for keeping this chub only half-formed, and Reiner quietly prays that Mr. Smith won’t be asking anyone to come to the board today.

As if he’d heard Reiner’s silent plea, Mr. Smith clears his throat, and the class groggily comes back to attention, blinking slowly and turning their attention back to the front of the room.

“And now, a question.” Mr. Smith is sitting on the edge of his desk, leaning back on his hands, and if Reiner thinks about it too much, he’ll realize that the girls have been right all along and Mr. Smith _is_ the hottest teacher in the school. Damn you, Porco Galliard, for opening the floodgates of gay thoughts! “We know what the Supreme Court does, and its purpose in our system of checks and balances. Now… what is an example of a decision the Court made that had lasting social impact?”

Easy. The usual suspects leap to Reiner’s mind—the Dred Scott case, _Plessy v. Ferguson_ , Prohibition, _Roe v. Wade_ —but he’s far more interested in how Porco suddenly sits forward, his hand shooting into the air.

Mr. Smith raises his eyebrows, surprised by the sudden show of enthusiasm, and gestures towards Porco. “Mr. Galliard?”

“ _Obergefell v. Hodges._ ”

“Ah.” Mr. Smith favors Porco with a benevolent smile. “Going with a modern case, I see. For those of us who don’t follow the news,” Mr. Smith turns back to the class, well aware that that name means nothing to the rest of them, including Reiner, “ _Obergefell v. Hodges_ was a 2015 case regarding marriage rights. It allowed the same rights and privileges of marriage to all couples, regardless of gender.”

Reiner suddenly gets an inkling that this is something Mr. Smith isn’t supposed to talk about, something the administration would rather have him not address, and that’s he secretly delighted that Porco brought it up. If a student is asking a question, and framing it as a discussion about the Supreme Court, then how can he _not_ talk about it? 

“Prior to the Court’s ruling, marriage rights were decided on a state-by-state basis, and were universal in thirty-six states. Now, Mr. Galliard, what would be the social impact of that system?”

Porco is sitting on the edge of his seat, ready with an answer. “If a couple got married in one state that allowed them to marry, and then moved to another one that didn’t, which state’s laws would they have to follow?”

“Very good.” Mr. Smith nods approvingly. “And in what kind of situations would that be problematic?”

“Hospital visitation rules, insurance policies, next-of-kin access, and end-of-life benefits.”

Reiner sits up straighter, suddenly interested. Porco is leaning forward, his brow drawn down as he focuses on Mr. Smith, and that kind of intensity sends a thrill up Reiner’s spine. It doesn’t hurt that Porco is talking about something that affects gay rights, and that he knows so much about it and can speak so passionately. It sounds like this is something he cares about, if he can talk about it with so much verve, and it makes Reiner wonder what Porco’s stance on gay rights is, and what he thinks about the LGBT community.

The rest of the classroom is starting to take notice now, shuffling in their seats and looking more awake than they have during the whole class. From the back corner of the room, someone snorts. “Who cares? Fags are unnatural.”

The little light in Reiner’s chest shuts off, and he bows his shoulders in, hunching down at his desk. Why today, of all days, couldn’t Mitch be snoozing through class like normal? Why does he have to be awake and vocal _today_?

Porco goes rigid in his seat, his spine a straight line; he clearly heard that too. He starts to turn around, and Reiner ducks even lower into his seat, fighting the temptation to put his arms over his head. No, no, _no_ , don’t start this fight today, don’t bring this out in the open! Even though he knows no one in the room knows about him, he still feels like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car, frozen in the spotlight, singled out and with his doom rushing down on him and yet unable to move.

Mr. Smith is faster than either of the two students; he somehow manages to get from his desk at the front of the room to the aisle beside Porco’s desk, and he drops a hand onto Porco’s shoulder with a solid thump that makes Reiner wince. It stops Porco’s movement, though, and he lands back on his seat. He looks up at Mr. Smith, and Reiner catches just a glimpse of hurt and betrayal in his expression before Porco realizes Mr. Smith isn’t glaring at him at all.

The rest of the class is on the edge of their seats, poised and breathless, waiting for a storm to descend into the classroom. Some of them are probably hoping for a fight, Reiner knows, and he wishes, for the first time, that he’d skipped school today.

“ _Language_ , Mr. Williams.” Mr. Smith hasn’t raised his voice, and his expression is still smooth and benign, but Reiner is close enough to see the thunderclouds in his eyes, and he wouldn’t switch places with Mitch Williams for anything on earth.

Mitch holds up under the scrutiny for about two seconds before folding; he might be a big dumb hick, but he’s a big dumb hick who’s been taught to obey authority, possibly at the receiving end of his father’s fists. “Sorry, Mr. Smith.”

“Don’t be sorry, be _better_.” Mr. Smith squeezes Porco’s shoulder, clears his throat, and addresses the class at large again. “The _goal_ of the Supreme Court is to protect and defend the rights of every citizen in the country, which is an admirable goal they haven’t always achieved. Can anyone think of another example?”

A girl at the front of the room offers the Dred Scott case in a shy, wavering voice, and the class discussion settles back into something like normal, sleepy and not terribly engaged. Reiner notices that Mr. Smith stays standing beside Porco for a few moments, his hand still on his shoulder, before letting go and walking back to the front of the room.

Reiner stops paying attention to the lecture, even though it’s something he’s interested in; he watches Porco, and the way he keeps his jaw set, and how he keeps his back tall and straight for the rest of class. He even notices how, when Porco tries to play with his pen again, his hand shakes and he drops it.

He doesn’t play with it again after that.

~*~

Reiner can’t stop thinking about Porco after that, and what he’d said. He stares out the window all through Physics, and he’s normally a good enough student that Ms. Nanaba leaves him alone. She’s been a little distracted lately too, suddenly pausing in the middle of a lecture to smile to herself, her gaze far away. 

Why would Porco do that? Why would he bring up a case that only really had implications for gay people, especially when there are so many other cases that he could have chosen? Why would he know so much about it? And why did he quiet down so much afterwards? From what Reiner knows about him, Porco is _never_ so quiet and subdued. His whole _thing_ is being flashier and noisier than his older brother, like he’s permanently got something to prove. And it’s not his fault Marcel is so handsome and chill and popular…

Reiner blinks, and straightens up in his chair, coming out of the slouch he’s held for the last twenty minutes. Is _that_ what’s going on here? Is Porco the way he is because he’s always competing with Marcel? Reiner doesn’t have any siblings himself, but he’s seen how other people are around theirs, and he knows sibling rivalry runs deep and strong.

But Marcel and Porco are so close! It’s pretty obvious that they’re best friends! So why would Porco need to _compete_ with him?

It’s something that bears thinking about, and Reiner is certain he fucks up most of his Physics assignment as he tries to puzzle it out.

The bell rings, and Ms. Nanaba smiles at them as they all troop out of the classroom. “She’s getting laid,” a student ahead of Reiner posits, and Reiner frowns.

Pervert.

Reiner drifts down the hallway towards the cafeteria, still lost in thought and moving slower than normal. It’s because he’s taking his time that he hears it: a low, ugly chuckle coming from one of the side hallways, and the distinctive thud and jangle of someone getting slammed up against the lockers. He pauses, waiting to hear if it’s repeated, and when it is, Reiner sighs and starts moving towards the sound.

It’s Mitch. Of course it’s Mitch, Mitch who is constantly hassling the freshmen and sophomores, Mitch who only gets away with what he does because he’s on the football team and Mr. Zackly wants a winning football team more than he does a peaceful school. It’s Mitch and a couple of his friends, another two football players, and they’re giggling and hulking around someone who’s blocked by their massive shoulders, and Reiner is about to open his mouth to ask what’s going on when he catches a flash of red hair between them.

_Porco_.

Any conciliatory words dying in his throat, Reiner keeps quiet and starts creeping closer. Sometimes you should try and defuse a situation; sometimes you want to hit first and ask questions later. Violence is the only thing these animals understand, anyway.

As he creeps down the hallway, Mitch’s words turn from mush into something almost audible, and then Porco’s voice rings out, sharp and cracking like a whip.

“Not my fault you’re some ignorant damn trailer trash!”

Reiner winces and picks up the pace, abandoning stealth. Mitch’s shoulders have gone rigid, showing that Porco has clearly hit a nerve, and Reiner can already see him drawing back his arm for a punch. Reiner knows he won’t reach them in time to prevent that punch, even if it feels like time has slowed down and Mitch is raising his arm in slow motion. But he _will_ be able to reach one of Mitch’s friends, and Reiner drops low and springs, aiming his shoulders for the small of one oafish back.

Reiner hits just as Mitch’s arm reaches its zenith and his minion lets out a little hoot of joy at the upcoming violence, which turns into a yelp of dismay as Reiner collides with him and drives him forward. Reiner catches a glimpse of Porco’s face, his eyes wide with surprise, as he drives the minion forward, managing through dumb luck to catch the other one and throw them both off balance. Mitch is distracted, and as Reiner and the two minions crash to the ground, Reiner hears a meaty thud and a loud howl from him. Reiner lands on top of the minions and immediately rolls off them, scrambling to his feet with both fists in front of his face, ready to throw down if he has to.

There’s no need. Mitch is bent almost double, his hands cradling his crotch, his face beet red and contorted in only the way a man who’s just gotten slammed in the nuts can contort. Porco shoots Reiner a triumphant grin, and dodges in before Reiner can grab him.   
Admittedly, when Reiner saw the blooming bruise under Porco’s left eye, he didn’t try very hard to intercept, and only pulls him back after Porco has landed a solid uppercut to Mitch’s jaw and kicked the minions a couple of times. Porco fights against Reiner’s grip, but it’s more for show than anything else, and when he stops and leans back against Reiner’s chest, it makes Reiner’s heart jog in his chest in a way that’s not just the adrenaline.

Mitch and his minions cautiously rise to their feet, snuffling and slow. Mitch takes a great, dragging snort, and spits a blob of bloody spit on the floor at Porco’s feet. “Fucking fags.”

Reiner stiffens, his hands loosening on Porco’s arms—it’s the first time he’s ever been called _that_ , and it hurts more than he thought it would. It hurts _deep_ , knowing that someone hates him just because of what he _is_ , even if it’s a stupid ingrate like Mitch. He takes a startled little breath, caught in the moment before tears and suddenly terrified that they’ll come, that he’ll start crying and they’ll _know_ , they’ll know what he is and by tomorrow morning it’ll be all over school and everyone will know and that’ll be it, he’ll be Reiner the Faggot until he graduates, and that’s all he’ll ever be.

Porco must feel that little gasp, because although he makes a jolting movement forward, like he wants to punch Mitch again, he stays close to Reiner. “Fuck off, you piece of shit.”

Mitch turns his gaze to Reiner, and there’s something slow moving behind his eyes, something reptilian and ancient, and Reiner has the creeping sensation along his spine that Mitch has figured it out. But then Mitch just spits again, this time almost hitting Porco’s feet, and mutters something about cross country queers before slouching away with his minions.

Porco waits until they’re gone before letting all his breath out in one long whoosh. “Shit!”

He sags back against Reiner’s chest, and for just a moment, Reiner has his arms around him, and it feels _right_. It feels _good_ , holding him like this, and Reiner gets a sudden, unwelcome vision of just leaning down and kissing him, and Porco tilting his head back to accept the kiss, and then turning in Reiner’s arms and wrapping his around Reiner’s neck, and…

And Reiner gently disengages, pulling his arms back and stepping away, reaching down to give himself a quick readjustment with one hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Porco turns around and grins, tossing his hair back off his forehead and then combing his fingers through it to make it lay flat. “Did you see those dumb fucks? Ha!”

“Your eye…”

Porco shrugs. “Not the first time I’ve gotten punched. It’ll heal.”

“Are you sure? We could go get an icepack from the office.”

“And have to answer a bunch of questions about why I need it? Pass.” Porco shoots Reiner another of those dazzling grins, and Reiner is glad he intervened before any of Porco’s expensive-looking dental work got knocked around. “Unless you want to buy me an ice cream in the cafeteria? You know, for my eye.”

Reiner can’t help it; he laughs, and Porco preens under the sound of it. “Yeah, okay.”

Porco nods, but then his grin fades away, and he looks pensive. “Reiner… thanks.”

Reiner shrugs, suddenly embarrassed. “Wasn’t anything.”

“Bullshit. It was something.” Porco glances away. “Those beasts would’ve murdered me. So thanks.”

Reiner can’t help it; he smiles as his chest blooms warm. “You’re welcome.” Maybe he’s still delirious from the fight, or maybe it’s the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, but Reiner blurts it out before he has time to think it over. “Do you want to go running this weekend?”

Porco’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but then he grins again. “Really? _Yeah_ , there’s a great trail out behind my house!”

~*~

Reiner’s shirt smells like Porco for the rest of the day, and he only wars with the idea for a few minutes before he takes it to bed with him that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That shirt is staying on Reiner's pillowcase for another good couple of weeks.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

The Galliards live on the nice side of town, in the area with all the old, handsome shade trees and stately houses, and Reiner feels conspicuous as hell as he drives through it in his rusty, noisy beater. He doesn’t usually come to this part of town, and every time he stops at a stop sign to dutifully look both ways, he feels like all the eyes in the neighborhood are on him, waiting for him to do something criminal.

This might have been a mistake.

The Galliard house is one of the more modest ones, elegant and set back from the curb, with a rolling expanse of green lawn in front of it. Somewhere nearby, a lawnmower is buzzing, and Reiner pulls up to the curb to double-check the address when he sees someone on the porch stand up and wave to him. 

It’s Marcel, and Reiner waves back.

Marcel cups his hands around his mouth, and hollers down to Reiner. “Park in the driveway!”

In the driveway? Reiner glances at the cars there—a handsome Cadillac, a trim little Prius, and the sporty Volkswagen that Marcel drives to school—and wants to sink into his ragged seat. Really? Marcel wants him to pull in behind _those_?

Marcel has jumped down the porch’s steps and comes trotting over to Reiner’s car, followed by a handsome yellow Lab with a green collar. “Hey!” He plops his hands down on Reiner’s window ledge, and Reiner winces, hoping his car doesn’t get him dirty. “Park in the driveway, you’ll be in the shade.”

Reiner looks at the driveway again, then back at Marcel. “I won’t be blocking anyone in?”

“Nah. Park behind me, I’m not going anywhere today.”

“You’re the boss.” Reiner shifts his car into gear—the transmission grinds crankily but cooperates—and carefully pulls into the driveway.

Marcel stands at the edge of the lawn, hands in his pockets, the dog sitting beside him, and waits until Reiner is parked. As Reiner gets out of the car, the dog stands and walks over, ears perked forward and tail wagging.

“Hey, buddy.” Reiner stoops to scratch the dog’s ears, and is rewarded for his trouble with a long pink tongue swiping over his hands.

“That’s Sarge,” Marcel informs him.

“Hey, Sarge. Who’s a good boy?”

Sarge wags his tail; clearly, _he_ is the good boy!

Marcel waits with the patience of someone who knows he has an engaging, pleasant dog, and when Reiner straightens back up, Marcel smiles lazily and gestures towards the porch. “Porco’s finishing up mowing the lawn. Want to come wait for him?”

“Sure.” Reiner follows Marcel to the porch and the wicker chairs waiting there, and he’s glad that he decided to wear his longer running shorts, and a shirt with sleeves. It’s not that different from what Marcel is wearing, if clearly older and more worn, so he doesn’t look _completely_ out of place.

Marcel takes a seat in one of the chairs and Reiner sits down next to him. They’re quiet for a few moments, until Marcel clears his throat.

“Thanks for helping Porco the other day.” Reiner stares at him blankly, and Marcel clarifies. “In the hallway. When he was getting in a fight.”

“Oh.” Reiner doesn’t think he did a very good job—Porco has been sporting a black eye the last few days at school—and shrugs. “It’s nothing.”

“Nah, it’s something.” Marcel sounds more serious than Reiner has ever heard him sound before, and that catches his attention. When he lifts his eyes to meet Marcel’s gaze, it’s thoughtful and analyzing, like he’s picking Reiner apart in his mind. It’s not exactly a pleasant sensation; Reiner can tell that Marcel is a lot smarter than his casual, happy-go-lucky attitude implies, and he thinks Marcel sees and notices a lot more than he lets on. “Porco’s mouth writes checks his fists can’t cash sometimes, if you know what I mean.”

Reiner bursts out laughing, both in relief and amusement, and after a moment, Marcel joins him. That’s the most accurate description of Porco Reiner has ever heard.

“It’s okay. I mean, I wasn’t going to let those guys beat on him or anything.”

“I know. You’re a good man.” 

The compliment surprises Reiner, and the warm glow in his chest is almost enough to distract him from what Marcel says next.

“Porco’s always been different, and that’s hard on him. Harder than he lets on. I’m glad he’s met someone like him.”

Reiner freezes in his chair, his hands gripping the armrests in a death grip. Did Marcel… does Marcel _know_?

“What do you mean?” Reiner’s voice comes out tight and half-strangled.

Marcel raises his eyebrows, and takes a moment to respond. “You know… a friend. Someone he can talk to.”

Reiner relaxes a little. “Oh. Yeah, I guess so.” 

Marcel smiles faintly. “He got in a lot of fights at the last school we were at. A week didn’t go by where I wasn’t pulling him off someone or getting between him and someone a lot bigger.” He chuckles a little, but there isn’t much humor in the sound. “Sometimes I wonder what’d happen to him if I wasn’t there.”

This is getting uncomfortable. “He’s, uh… he’s lucky he has a good brother.”

“Pfffft.” Marcel waves a hand dismissively. “I’m not so great. I can’t help him with the shit that matters. Much as I wish I could, I can’t.”

Sarge chooses that moment to sashay up and drop a tennis ball in Reiner’s lap, making him startle as it bounces off his leg, and he seizes the distraction. “Uh… can I throw this for him?”

Marcel looks like he wants to say more, but after a moment, he simply smiles. “You do and you’ll have a friend for life.”

Reiner throws the ball, and Sarge leaps off the porch to chase it. They spend the next few minutes playing catch before the sound of the lawnmower dies away, and a door slams somewhere in the house.

Porco’s bellowing voice drifts out to them. “MARCEL! REINER HERE YET?”

Marcel rolls his eyes at Reiner before yelling back, equally loud, making Reiner jump. “WE’RE ON THE PORCH!”

The sounds of someone running through the house, and moments later, Porco bursts out onto the porch with them.

“Hey.” He grins widely at Reiner, and even with the slowly-healing black eye, he’s still handsome as hell. He’s flushed and slightly sweaty, his calves and sneakers stained green with freshly-cut grass, and he’s wearing a plain white t-shirt that makes his red-gold hair even more eye-catching than normal. Reiner tries very hard not to look at his legs, but when Porco is wearing running shorts that barely skim the tops of his thighs, it’s very hard not to.

“Hey.” Reiner smiles back. “You didn’t wear yourself out mowing the lawn, did you?”

Porco waves a hand dismissively. “No, it’s a riding mower. Don’t worry,” he leans in and playfully punches Reiner’s shoulder, “I’ll still be faster than you.”

Marcel laughs softly. “Listen to that sass, Reiner. He kisses our mother with that mouth.”

“Marcel!” Porco dives in and manages to get Marcel in a headlock, gleefully scrubbing his hand through Marcel’s hair and making it stand up all over the place. It seems like an overreaction to Reiner, but then, he’s never had an older brother.

Reiner waits for the tussling match to end, throwing the ball for Sarge a couple more times before they manage to sort it out.

“Okay, you ready?” Porco combs his hands through his hair a few times, smoothing down the spots where Marcel managed to muss it.

With one final pat to Sarge’s head, Reiner nods and stands up. “Do we need to drive to get there?”

“No, it’s right behind the house.” Porco jumps off the porch and gestures for Reiner to follow him. “C’mon!”

“You can get in the pool when you get back,” Marcel tells Reiner as he follows Porco at a more sedate pace. “Pretty sure my trunks would fit you.”

Reiner flips a little wave to him. “Thanks. See you later.”

~*~

Porco wasn’t kidding about being faster than Reiner.

Reiner is used to running with Bertolt, whose long, loping stride he’s better able to match and keep up with. Porco’s legs are shorter than his, but when he gets going, Reiner would swear he’s taking three steps for every one of his, and he’s struggling to keep up.

It doesn’t help that Porco keeps pulling ahead of him, and his ass in his running shorts is a sight to behold. It’s round and tight, moving with fluidity inside his shorts, and Reiner is coming to the uncomfortable realization that he’s an ass man. It’s hard to focus on the trail when he keeps staring at Porco’s ass and wondering what it would feel like to grab it, and if he can get away with a playful slap to it when this is all over. Reiner swats Bertolt sometimes, or at least he did in the past, before he realized what he was doing and what he was, and the implications of playing Grab Ass with his best friend. He doesn’t swat Bertolt anymore, and there’s been a distinct lack of ass in his life.

It’s hard, checking out Porco and having to watch him at the same time, to make sure he doesn’t get caught. Reiner realizes that he’s being something of a creeper, and that if he saw a guy doing what he’s doing to a girl, he’d get involved and make him stop. He’s being gross, and his face is partially burning with shame, in addition to exertion from trying to keep up, but every time he makes the decision to stop and watch the trail ahead, he only makes it about three minutes. And then his gaze starts drifting downward, and before he knows it, he’s watching Porco’s ass again.

Because he’s breaking one of the first rules of trail running—watch where you’re going—what happens is probably inevitable. Porco has darted ahead of Reiner again, Reiner is watching his ass move inside those scandalously short shorts, and Reiner’s toe catches on an upturned tree root. He teeters for a split second, on the very edge of balance, before his forward momentum takes over, and Reiner goes catapulting forward, face down in the dirt. He lands poorly, taking the brunt of his weight on one of his legs, and landing on another root from the same tree, the wood digging up into the giant muscle on the front of his thigh. His breath knocked out of him, all Reiner can do is wheeze as he attempts to roll over, scrambling in the dirt and the first fallen autumn leaves.

“Reiner!”

Like a flash, Porco is there next to him, his hands on Reiner’s shoulder and arm, and they’re gentle in a way Reiner has never felt them before. Porco is kneeling beside him in the dirt, and Reiner groans feebly as he rolls over onto his back, gasping like a fish and staring up at the sky.

“Shit, are you okay?” Porco helps him sit up, one hand on the small of Reiner’s back, and Reiner manages to nod.

“Yeah, just tripped and… _shit_!” The thigh that landed on the root chooses that exact moment to cramp up, the huge muscle seizing all at once, and Reiner bends forward, clutching at it with both hands. “Cramp! Cramp!”

Porco pauses for a moment, then shifts around, positioning himself in front of Reiner. He puts both hands on Reiner’s chest, pushing him back into a normal sitting position. “Stretch your leg out. Lay it flat on the ground.” 

When Reiner doesn’t comply fast enough—the thought of stretching his leg out, of doing anything with it besides curling up like a cooked shrimp and waiting for the pain to pass, is insurmountable—Porco makes a sound of frustration and grabs Reiner’s calf, tugging his leg out straight and pushing it down to the ground. Reiner gasps in pain, but then Porco is sitting on his shin, and has both hands on his injured thigh, digging in with his thumbs and massaging the muscle. Reiner is caught between hissing and groaning, both surprised at how quickly Porco reacted and torn between pain and relief.

Porco has clearly done this before, his expression serious and stern as he digs his thumbs into Reiner’s leg, his fingers splaying out on either side of Reiner’s thigh, and the intense pressure starts to ease the pain of the cramp. Reiner breathes through his teeth and tries to relax the muscle as best he can, and Porco glances up at him.

“That’s good, just breathe through it.” Then he’s back looking at Reiner’s thigh, his hands powerful and warm on either side of it, his palms rasping over Reiner’s leg hair, and even through the pain, Reiner’s cock starts to perk to attention. Reiner grits his teeth and pushes his breath out in a forceful gush, thinking about the least sexy things he can and trying very, very hard to not notice how, in all the excitement, Porco’s hair has fallen across his forehead and hangs in his face, and definitely tries not to think about how it would feel to push it back and out of his eyes.

The cramp starts loosening after a few moments, and with its passing, Reiner stops holding tension all through his body. Porco must feel it, because his grip starts to lessen, and instead of digging into Reiner’s flesh, he changes to long, smooth strokes over the top of his thigh. He keeps his fingers on either side of it, and if Reiner had known this was all he had to do to get Porco to cradle his thigh, he would have faked a cramp a long time ago.

“It loosening up?” Porco looks up again, and tosses his head to get his hair off his face. It flips backwards, then flops into his eyes again, and Reiner’s stomach turns in a lazy, happy circle.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s getting better.” Reiner expects Porco to take his hands off him, but he keeps up with the slow, massaging circles.

“Good. Marcel used to get these all the time. We should walk home.”

Reiner looks away, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

Porco chuckles. “It’s all right. Shit happens sometimes.”

They both go quiet then, and it slowly dawns on Reiner that his leg is completely relaxed, and that Porco must be able to feel that, but he keeps rubbing it. He keeps rubbing at the top of it with his thumbs, and his fingers on the inside of Reiner’s thigh start moving, caressing the muscles there, tickling the sensitive inner skin, and Reiner is well on his way to an erection. If his shirt wasn’t covering his lap, it would already be visible under his running shorts, and Reiner clears his throat.

“I’m good, Porco, you can stop now.” 

If this were happening with anyone else, even Bertolt, that would be enough to have them jumping off his leg, Reiner knows. No one wants to be groping another guys’ leg for too long, lest they run the risk of accusations of gayness. But Porco doesn’t stop, although he stops moving his hands. He stops moving them, and lifts his gaze to meet Reiner’s, and licks his lips in a way that’s probably unconscious but seems damn deliberate all the same. “Do you want me to?”

Reiner is torn; he doesn’t need Porco helping him with his cramp anymore, but he also doesn’t want him to stop touching his leg. He’s realized that he wants Porco touching him all over, touching him everywhere, caressing him the same way he’d touched his thigh, and Reiner wants to touch him back. His palms ache for it, his fingers itching to run up and down Porco’s rib cage, through his hair, to settle on the wings of his hip bones, just visible over the band of his running shorts. He wants to touch Porco, to hold him, to steal all the little clandestine touches he sees his classmates sneak in the hallway at school and that Reiner thought he’d never be able to have. He wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss Porco so, so bad.

But he can’t say that. No matter how Reiner tries, the words won’t form in his throat, because that would be _admitting_ what he is, and who is he, and he can’t do that. Not when he doesn’t know how Porco will react.

“The cramp is gone.” He settles for that, and Reiner swears he sees a flash of disappointment in Porco’s eyes.

“That’s not what I asked.” Porco shifts up onto his knees, no longer sitting and pinning Reiner’s calf, leaning forward and ducking his head down so he can meet Reiner’s eyes. There’s nowhere for Reiner to go, no escape, and yet he doesn’t lean away. Almost unconsciously, without even thinking about it, he leans forward, towards Porco. “I asked if you wanted me to stop.”

Reiner licks his suddenly dry lips, and he’s not seeing things this time, Porco definitely glances down at them before looking back up and meeting his gaze. Porco’s eyes are such a bright blue, a blue Reiner could drown in, and he looks challenging and vulnerable and brave and shy all at once, and the only answer Reiner can give is the honest one.

“No.”

They both let out a breath then, like they’d both been holding theirs, poised and waiting on Reiner’s response, and something in Reiner’s chest loosens. It’s the first time he’s admitted something like this out loud, given voice to his wants and needs, and it’s freeing. It’s freeing in a way he never would have imagined, in a way he desperately needed and hadn’t even realized until just now.

“Okay.” And Porco leans the rest of the way in and presses his lips against Reiner’s.

It takes Reiner by surprise—even with all of Porco’s signals, even with his hands still cupping Reiner’s thigh, he still didn’t quite believe that this wasn’t imaginary—and for a single second, he’s frozen and indecisive. Then he realizes that Porco’s lips are just as soft as he’d imagined they’d be, and taste like cherry Chapstick, and that he’s being kissed, he’s getting his first kiss, and Reiner sits up straight, pushing into it and kissing back.

Porco pulls away all too soon, and looks down, breathing heavily. Fear lances through Reiner’s chest; has he done something wrong? Is he a terrible kisser, and Porco doesn’t want to do that again? He can do better, he swears he can, just give him a chance! “Porco?”

“Shit.” Porco’s shoulders start shaking, and Reiner realizes he’s laughing. “Shiiiiiit…”

“Porco?”

He looks up again that, and Reiner realizes he’s never seen this exact expression on Porco’s face before, has never seen the corners of his eyes crinkle in this exact way: relief. Porco is relieved, and laughing away the tension that he must have been carrying too. “God _damn_ , Reiner, I thought you… I wasn’t sure if you were…”

“Gay?” And somehow, saying it feels like an act of rebellion and of confirmation and freedom all at once, and Reiner’s chest loosens further. For the first time since he realized he wasn’t interested in the Playboy magazine Bertolt stole from his dad, except to look at the pictures of men in its advertisements, Reiner feels like he can breathe again.

Porco nods. “Yeah.”

Reiner nods back, and dares to lift his hand to brush Porco’s hair out of his eyes. Porco lets him, and it’s not the sexy moment Reiner thought it would be; Porco’s hair is wet with sweat and somehow crunchy with gel at the same time, and Reiner’s hand is shaking, and he leaves a smear of dirt on Porco’s cheek, and it’s somehow absolutely perfect in spite of all that when Porco leans his cheek into the palm of Reiner’s hand.

“I am.” Reiner takes a deep breath, and suddenly he’s laughing too. “I am. That’s me. I’m… I’m gay.”

“Okay. Me too.” And that simple acceptance is all Reiner needs to lean in and kiss Porco again. He’s better at it this time, he swears, and he feels Porco’s breath hitch before he kisses him back, his lips pressing firmly against Reiner’s and the taste of Porco’s Chapstick filling Reiner’s whole world.

Porco shifts forward, shuffling through the leaves without breaking their kiss, and he climbs into Reiner’s lap, straddling him and wrapping his arms around Reiner’s neck. Reiner’s hands fall naturally to Porco’s hips, and the wings of his hipbones are just as magnificent under his hands as he thought they would be. From this angle, they’re the same height, and Porco’s chest rests against Reiner’s, and Reiner can feel their heartbeats pounding away together.

It’s not the only part of them that’s pressed close, although it takes Reiner a moment to realize what’s poking at his groin. When he does, he groans into Porco’s mouth, and Porco lifts a hand to get a fistful of Reiner’s hair, tugging on it just enough to be the most incredible thing Reiner has ever felt. He’s never paid attention to his hair, giving it the bare minimum to look okay, but now that he knows having someone play with it feels so good, Reiner is going to be investing in better shampoo. Maybe even some conditioner.

Porco shuffles his hips from side to side, lining up their groins better, and when he pushes his hips forward, he does so with intent, and Reiner shudders all over when he feels the meaty solidity of Porco’s cock slide against his. Even through their shorts, Reiner can feel heat radiating off Porco’s groin, and every little twitch of his hips brushes their erections together, and Reiner is going to lose his mind. He’s going to nut in his pants like a kid.

Porco abruptly breaks their kiss, leaning back a little but keeping one arm around Reiner’s neck, and drops his hand between them. “You, uh… you okay with me…?”

Reiner has no idea what Porco is asking, and that must be apparent on his face, because Porco grunts and runs the flat of his hand over their clothed erections, making them both hiss. “With this. It’s okay if I touch?”

Reiner is dead. That fall must have killed him, because there’s no way this is happening. He’s clearly died and gone to heaven. “ _Please_.”

That makes Porco chuckle again, and he rewards Reiner’s with another quick kiss. Then, with their foreheads pressed against each other and Porco’s breath hot across Reiner’s lips, Porco takes hold of the band of Reiner’s shorts and pulls it down. It gets hung up on Reiner’s erection, and Porco makes a growling sound of frustration that shouldn’t be hot but is, and tries again. This time, he manages to get them down, and Reiner shivers as his cock is exposed to the air.

He watches as Porco looks down between them, and as Porco’s eyes grow wide when he sees what Reiner’s shorts had kept hidden. He watches as Porco brushes his fingers across Reiner’s length, his touch shy and soft again, and Reiner has to bite his tongue to keep from coming all over Porco’s fingers.

“You’re so _big_.” Porco’s tone is soft and reverent, and Reiner doesn’t have the heart to tell him that Bertolt is the one who’s really packing, and that Reiner is tiny by comparison. He’ll take the compliment.

“Th-thanks.” Reiner summons up all his courage and reaches for the band of Porco’s running shorts, tugging them down and over the erection bulging out the front of them.

Porco is smaller than Reiner is, his cock pale and jutting up from a bed of hair a darker shade of red than the hair on his head. Reiner notices the trail of hair that meanders from Porco’s groin up to his navel, and he has a sudden urge to run his tongue over it, to learn its taste and texture. Instead, he touches Porco’s cock, wrapping his fingers around it, the first cock he’s held besides his own, and as Porco moans against his shoulder, Reiner runs the pad of his thumb over the head. His thumb comes away wet and sticky, and Reiner comes within a breath of lifting his hand to his mouth and tasting it.

Porco is too fast for him; he moves his hips forward, slotting up against Reiner’s, his arm tightening around Reiner’s neck and his hand fumbling between them. It takes Reiner a moment to catch on, but when Porco gets hold of both their cocks and holds them together, he discovers he’s a quick study. He reaches down to help, grasping them on the other side, and Porco lifts his head to seal their mouths together as they start moving their hands up and down in unison.

Reiner is honestly glad when he makes it through five or six strokes before he’s shuddering all over, a bone-deep, aching sense of _need_ , and he thrusts his tongue into Porco’s mouth as he erupts. Porco shivers as Reiner sprays over their clasped hands, and he moans around Reiner’s tongue as he comes a moment later, adding his spunk to Reiner’s and making them both a sticky, filthy mess.

Porco nips Reiner’s lower lip as he pulls back, panting through his mouth and resting his head on Reiner’s shoulder, and Reiner wraps his free arm around him, cradling him up against his chest. Porco is the perfect size for it, he finds; big and solid enough that Reiner doesn’t feel like he’s going to break or hurt him, but small enough to fit into the circle of Reiner’s arms.

After a few of the most relaxing moments Reiner can remember, Porco shifts in his arms, and he reluctantly loosens his hold. Porco looks down between them and makes a face. “Ew.” 

He peels his hand away and then strips out of his shirt, using it to wipe them both clean and fix their shorts. He catches Reiner’s look, and grins at him. “My week to do laundry. No one else will know.”

Reiner gets the idea that Marcel will probably know, but he’s weirdly okay with that. Marcel knew already, didn’t he? Marcel called this, whatever _this_ is, even before Reiner knew that this could be a thing. “Okay.” He gets to his feet and offers Porco a hand, pulling him up. “You won’t get sunburned, will you?”

Porco rolls his eyes, but then smiles. “Thanks, _dad_ , but I’ll be okay. We’re under the trees.”

He turns and sets off down the trail, only walking a few steps before stopping and turning around. “You coming?”

Reiner stands in the trail, his cramped leg steady and solid underneath him, and takes in the scene before him: Porco, dappled with sunshine through the trees, shirtless and smiling, his hair mussed, offering a hand back to Reiner. It’s something that can’t be captured with a camera, something that Reiner knows he’ll be thinking about for a long, long time. 

“Yeah.” He catches up to Porco and links hands with him. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sarge! Sarge is back!

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Alina, the incredible mind behind [this artwork](http://alinajames.tumblr.com). Go give her stuff a look, since she inspired a number of scenes in Jaws and is a damn talented artist. She DOES have permission to translate this into Russian, given freely and willingly.


End file.
